Page 122 of The Strike Zone

“I have been.”

“Right, but…” He paused while I assumed he tried to figure out what his point was. “But you’ve not been together very long, officially, only a couple of weeks. Not as long as he thinks. And it’s not like you were being defiant on purpose, Scout had her job thing. Who d’you want to fix things with first? Coach or Scout.”

“Scout,” I replied without hesitation. “But I think I’ll run into Coach first.”

“Did you explain anything to him?”

I shook my head. “No, he stormed off too. Right after he was done threatening me with my position.”

“You don’t want to leave the club, do you?” Ace asked, his voice quieter.

“No. Of course I fucking don’t. I’ve been here my whole career. I just want to be here with Scout too.” I pushed my cap up and rubbed along my brow. “Fuck. I’ve messed this up so badly. I have to make it better, I have to apologize. Beg her to forgive me.”

“Hey,” he nudged into my ribs, “I’m the only one of us who gets to be this dramatic. You’ve fucked up nothing. It’s this stupid form that’s caused all the problems. Just go and sign it, tell Coach you’re not leaving, and go get Scout back.”

I turned to him, suddenly feeling way more hopeful than I had all day. “You think if I go to HR for the form, I can explain about Scout’s job too?”

“Definitely.” He grinned at me, slapping my back. “Everything is fixable. It won’t be as bad as you think it is. But we have a game to play first.”

Looking out to the field, everyone was making their way off except Lux and Tanner, heading over to us.

“Why are you two sitting in here?”

“We’re not, we’re heading in now.” I stood up, catching the ball Lux tossed to me and stepping out. The timing could not have been more perfect, either, for over where Rangers Douche and his friends were drinking beers, a group of security guards was making their way down the steps. “Wait one second, I want to see this.”

The four of us stopped to watch as the guards calmly rounded the guys up and escorted them away.

“Damn, I thought we might get a fight,” said Ace.

“No way, those guards easily weigh two fifty. I wouldn’t take them on.”

Lux pushed up his ball cap with a frown. “What’s just happened?”

“Rangers Douche was asked to leave.” Ace grinned.

Tanner turned to me, his brows knotted and looking as confused as Lux. “Scout’s ex? What was he doing here?”

“Trying to be a pain in my ass. And reminding me I need to be a better boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Nothing, let’s go. We have a game to win.”

“Damn right we do.”

Man, I really hoped Rangers Douche was watching the Lions cream the Mets from some shitty dive bar with the volume turned way down. We were currently top of the fourth, leading the Mets by seven runs to three, and a perverse type of pleasure was warming my veins better than the 90-degree heat that had me sweating my ass off in practice this afternoon.

This day was turning itself around.

We’d win the game, I’d find Scout, Coach, and HR, fix all my fuckups, and then we could get on with our lives.

The next Mets batter took his sweet time walking up to the plate. Enough that I could already tell from Ace’s stance what his next ball was going to be without me needing to give him a signal. We’d talked about it during the last break—fastball, curveball, or change-up—and this ball was going to be fast.

Behind me, the umpire was hopping about from one foot to another. I dropped into my squat, shifting my weight from side to side as the batter got into position, and rested my right knee.

Ace’s leg raised high, his arm pitched back. I dropped lower.

The ball shot through the air.

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